


Dear Arthur

by mordredslullabies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Physical Abuse, Reincarnation, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordredslullabies/pseuds/mordredslullabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin writes letters to Arthur about his life after Arthur's died. Semi-canonical, eventual reincarnation. Very angst heavy. Mentions of Merlin and Arthur in a sexual relationship, but also mentions the fact he does ultimately marry Gwen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dear Arthur,

It’s been a really long time living without you. I’m starting to give up hope I’ll ever see you again. I’m starting to lose faith in our legends and myths. I’m starting to miss you and let it get bad again.

The girl I like to spy on in the park came back after almost a year. She looked so lonely and lost without her friends, the boy and the girl she never failed to come without. She was sitting on the swing, eyes trained to the ground, and crying. I sat on the swing beside her, asked her what was wrong and where her friends were. Turned out the other girl found God and suddenly didn’t want to be friends with her anymore. The boy got himself killed in action during the war. I wish I could have spared her that pain. I know exactly how she feels because I still feel it whenever I think of you.

I told her about you, Arthur. Said I lost someone in a war when I wasn’t that much older than her. Told her the pain lessens every year that I realise you’re still gone. It does, but the pain never goes away. I still feel lost without you. Still feel so empty. I keep wondering why I’m still alive if my destiny was to serve you. Are you ever coming back, Arthur? Am I ever going to be able to protect you again?

The girl told me she felt lost and useless and completely unimportant. She reminded me of you, that night we spoke about Tristan and how he said there was nothing special about you and you believed him. I demanded to know who told her she was worthless, but I have a feeling she’s just underestimating herself. She might not be a queen and she might not have magic, but she matters. Her biggest wish was to get whisked away by the Doctor in his TARDIS and to help other people, save planets, kind of like what you and I did. I admire her for that. I see so much of you in her, Arthur. Maybe that’s why I’ve taken such an interest in her.

She doesn’t look like you, though. She looked more like Morgana, with her long dark curly hair and her piercing green eyes. But she’s small and short like Guinevere and has Gwaine’s large infectious smile. She’s sweet like Leon but can be a big pigheaded like Elyan and fiercely loyal like Percival. I guess she reminds me of everything I miss about Camelot, and I don’t even know her name. Perhaps the next time I see her I’ll ask, though it might be a little creepy coming from an old man. Maybe I’ll tell her my secret, stop being Emrys for a while and start embracing the fact that things won’t be the same anymore.

I miss you so much, but you died and I can’t change that. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, but I don’t want to be bitter about it forever. Maybe she can help me ease the pain. Maybe she’ll renew my faith in Kilgharrah’s words. I just want so much for you to rise out of Lake Avalon, Arthur. I’m still here. What are you waiting for, dollophead?

Quit milling around and come home to me.

Love, Merlin


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Arthur,

I had a fight with Lilly today. Lilly is the girl from the playground who lost her friends. She and I have been talking a lot lately. Or not talking. She sits down on the swings and I sit beside her and we usually swing in silence. Or we listen to music. The Smiths is usually our favourite. She’s a writer and a musician and she likes all that kind of stuff. Music helps me cope with the fact I’ve lost you, but it doesn’t make the pain bearable.

I still miss you with everything I have. Sometimes at night I still dream about you. I dream about cleaning your chambers or giving you much needed advice or scaring away all the deer on our hunting trips. I dream of calling you a dollophead and you telling me to shut up. I dream sometimes I tell you about my magic sooner or that Guinevere and Lancelot had gotten married instead of you and her and we lived in happy bliss. But I always always dream about that day you told me to hold you, and I kept you in my arms until I felt your light fade from underneath my fingertips. I’ll never forget that day.

My magic still reaches out to you. I’ll meet someone named Arthur or hear the name on the tip of someone else’s tongue and my magic sings through my veins. It’s waiting for you to come back and make me whole again. Why haven’t you come back to life yet, Arthur? Your servant is here waiting for you, you prat. Come back to Albion and be the king this world deserves. I miss you. I feel you everywhere and I can’t stop missing you. I can’t stop fighting with my magic. I can’t stop the hope that maybe next year or the next day you’ll be rising from Lake Avalon and I’ll be there to greet you, all smiles and ears and clumsiness that the old Merlin was. I want him back, and I want you back.  
Why did you leave me, Arthur? Why haven’t you been back?

Stop being a prat. Just come back. Come back and I promise I’ll hold on to you forever. I’ll never let you go. I promise.

Love, Merlin


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Arthur,

Where the fuck are you? I can’t breathe without you. It’s been so hard to go through the motions. Every day I am forced to keep living and the people around me all leave and die. A part of me died and I never got that back. More pieces drifted away when I watched everyone in Camelot grow old and pass on and I couldn’t join them in death. I had to keep drifting on. 

What’s so good about this life without you? I don’t have a purpose. I have only myself to look after and clean up for. Magic doesn’t have a place in this world; it doesn’t exist anymore. I have no real friends to joke around with or to cheer up on a bad day or to protect from the world. I thought I could replace you with Lilly, but she didn’t need me in the same way you do. She won’t speak to me and I’m feeling so lost and wishing I could lose myself in polishing your armour or boots. Then you would notice that I haven’t called you a prat yet and you would do something nice to show you didn’t think of me as just your servant and I would be okay again.

I really fucking miss you, Arthur. I just want you back. I want to go back and restart everything. If I had known how things would turn out the day I came to Camelot, I would make so many different decisions. I would have done things differently with you. I would have protected you differently than I had. I would make my feelings and magic known. I would cherish all the small moments more. I would have never let go of you and my destiny so easily. I would have fought so hard to be by your side, to make sure you lived, to make sure that I died along with you at the very end. Just you and I, two sides of the same coin.

That’s what we are, Arthur. That’s what we’ll always be. The Great Dragon Kilgharrah once told me that one cannot hate that which makes it whole. You make me whole. I am so much less of a person here without you, all lone. I want the pieces of me to fit back into place. I don’t want to be sad anymore. I want the happiness and surety I saw every time I looked in your eyes. You just need to be alive. Just come back to life for me, Arthur. Please. I am dying here without you. I need you back. And I know you need me. We would both be nothing without the other. But I promise you will never know the pain of having to live without the one you love like I have all these years. I would never wish such a living death on anyone, not even Mordred or Morgana, who forgot what loyalty and love really meant. I will never lose sight of that, even when it seems I’ve lost sight of everything else that ever had meaning.

Hurry up and come back to life, Arthur. I’m sick of being sad. I want smiles and insults and everything else you have to offer. Stop being a stubborn prat and just come back.

Love, Merlin


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Arthur,

I’m a fucking failure. I’m an awful person. You were so kind a honourable and I’m a huge fraud. A gutless fraud and I hate myself. I feel so guilty and I can’t stop the hurt from wracking my brain. It bounces around my skull ceaselessly. I’m alive and everyone I love is dead. I have all this power within me and yet I could no save anyone’s life. I am not the greatest sorcerer that’s ever walked the earth. I am an utter fake. I am a hapless shit of a bloke. I am nothing good. I go about feeling fucking sorry for myself. For a while I tried to numb everything out by getting shitfaced drunk. But then drinking reminded me of Gwaine and the tavern and then I felt useless and angry and upset over his death and how I didn’t get to say goodbye and how I should have opened up to him and warned him while I had the chance.

And then…then came the drugs. I was on coke for a while, but it made me feel so sugary jittery and not at all myself. And I felt like a huge ass fake and even worse than I did when I was sober.

And then there was the shrooms. Oh gods that was bloody awful. That shit made me hallucinate. My trips weren’t fantastical at all. Instead I kept seeing your face. And you were disgusted with me. You yelled at me, called me names, shunned me, kicked my face in senselessly. I felt disgusting. I wanted to strip off all my skin and scrub away all my dirty shame. Managed to take off a lot of my skin in the end. My nails were bloody and there were gashes all over my arms and stomach. Couldn’t bring myself to use a healing spell. I wanted to feel broken and in pain. I fucking deserved it for being the magical fucker who survived through all this shite.

After that I really found my calling with heroin. Heroin made me numb, relaxed. It made me forget everything. I couldn’t think about the fact you were dead and I survived. I couldn’t think about how much I was hurting and alone. I couldn’t think of how much you must have been in pain in those last few days of your life, how it felt to die in my arms. How you’re nothing anymore. You just don’t even exist. I needed a reprieve, and heroin in my veins was like water in the desert. I loved the feel of it. I could feel it coursing through me, working its magic as I plunged the syringe into my skin, that vulnerable crook in my elbow. I needed it more than I needed air, wanted it more than anything in the world. I overdosed a lot—lots more than I care to admit. And every time I woke up feeling like death, vomiting for hours as my system purged the overload of drugs, I was bitter. I hated myself even more than ever because all I wanted was to die and I couldn’t even do that right because I was fucking immortal and useless and a drug addict and so alone and guilty and stupid that it hurt. And I was here and alive and wasting my life while you’re wasting away in a fucking lake, dead, and I know you would have been disappointed I was throwing everything away pining after you.

I quit the drugs after that. I couldn’t stop feeling like a useless sod but at least I was trying to be useful. I kicked the habit and tried to stop being an unsociable hermit and get on with my life. The hurt and the feelings never went away, but at least I tried. And every now and then, on the loneliest of days, like now, I can’t help but let that uselessness and that guilty feeling creep into me. And the want for the drugs becomes overpowering and I can’t help but indulge. I haven’t stuck a needle in me tonight, not yet. I wanted to write to you first. And maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll call up Lilly and ask her to talk me down, come over and hold my trembling hand. But I don’t think I’m strong enough.

I just fucking miss you is all. I’m a mess, a downright fucking mess since you died, and I haven’t gotten any tidier. I guess this is what they call a pathetic bloke hopelessly in love. Yeah, sue me. Just thought you should know what you do to me.

Oh, what you do to me, Arthur. Still after all this time, one thought of you and I’m pulled apart inside. I can remember the ghosts of your fingers trailing along my thighs and spine, the whisper of your lips against my stomach, my jaw. Your probing tongue in my mouth. The way you moan, clutch my hair tight in your firsts and yank on it. Hold fast to my wrists and pin them above my head like I’m your prisoner. Those memories do my head in still. I’m still aching for you. I’m lonely for the ghost of a man who might never be again. It’s been centuries without you and my love for you is still there. So powerful. The same side of a coin, my other half. That’s what they call twin flames, right?

Come make me whole again, Arthur. Take me apart with one blow. I want to learn the curves of your body again, feel the way we mould together as one again. I want kisses in the rain and kisses while smirking and arms wrapped around waists. I want laced fingers and sweaty skin, lazy days in bed. I want laughs and meaningless conversations. I want you, Arthur. Do you still want me?

Please come back. Albion might not need you, but I do. I need you.

Love, Merlin


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Arthur,

I’m just one big ball of angst right now. I can’t control my emotions. I thought I could. But I’m lonely and sad and I don’t feel useful anymore. Back in Camelot, even though I wasn’t allowed to admit it, I was doing something for the greater good. I would wake up in the morning, suspect sorcerers were trying to kill you, and I’d stop them with my own magic because it was the right thing to do. Nowadays, there is no use for magic. Magic doesn’t exist for people anymore. Rarely anyone has magical abilities like me—no one that I’ve met. There are seers and clairvoyants but with way less power than there used to be. Magic is dying because those who have believed in it are not around to bear witness. It’s frustrating and I don’t feel useless at all. Not anymore, because I can’t do anything.

I used to have friends. I will admit that. I had you and Gwen and all of the knights on my side. And I had a great mum and my uncle Gaius and I loved my life, even if it was fraught with death and sadness at every turn. But this existence is utterly bleak. I’ve lost all of you. Sure, I have Lilly, but she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know who I am, what I’ve been through. Magic is just a word to her: magic. Unicorns and sorcerers and all of that is just a myth to her, a fantasy story she used to read when she was a little kid. A wizard to her is Harry Potter, not Merlin. I don’t think she even knows who you are, Arthur. And if she does, she probably doesn’t know any of the legends. Long story short, I’m frustrated with my anonymity. Sometimes I was even frustrated with it in Camelot, even though I could understand it. I knew I couldn’t go around seeking glory for the many times I saved Camelot’s arse from being history because that would have meant certain death. But now…I have no one to save. I have no reason to put my skills to the test, no one to thank me for my good deeds. I just go by invisible, a stranger on the street, another random person in a sea of people. I want people to recognise me. I want them to know who I am, what I do, acknowledge me in some sort of way. I don’t like being a hermit. It’s not in my nature, Arthur. I want real, true, steady friends again. And I don’t have them. Wouldn’t know where to go looking for them again.

I guess I’m just on a pathetic ramble. So what else is new? Maybe I just enjoy doing my head in. Got nothing better to do. Maybe I’ll just make some tea and take deep breaths and dream about being back in Camelot, dream all my friends still exist and maybe that’ll be enough for now. I can only hope it will be because I don’t know what else to do. I’m at a loss and I don’t think things are going to get better.

Wish you were here so we can wallow in our misery together. Maybe someday soon. Maybe you’re paying me back for all the days I kept you waiting when I was your manservant. I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson. Maybe it’s about time we stop with the games and you just come back to life, yeah? You can only stay dead for so long, King Prat. Wake up and face the day.

Love, Merlin


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Arthur,

I feel really lonely tonight. Decided to stop at Starbucks for some good high calorie coffee and to get some studying out of the way on my laptop and ended up feeling like a sap for the rest of the night. There was this really lovely couple in the coffee shop and I can’t begin to express to you how much it saddened me to see how happy they were. See, the girl (her name was Holly) is this bright young thing, maybe 21, 22. She was easily 5’5 and skinny as hell with lots of freckles and pretty green eyes and light brown hair. Her boyfriend (his name was Alex) was tall and muscular, not unlike Percival in a lot of ways. And his hand never strayed far from her tiny waist. He grabbed at the skin there and stroked it with his thumb like he couldn’t breathe if she was apart from him too long. And she was leaning into his chest and closing her eyes in that really comfortable way, like she felt completely safe with him no matter what. And after they ordered their drinks and sat down, I was trying not to overhear their conversations, but I couldn’t help listening in a bit. They were teasing each other good-naturedly and they were so at ease around each other and knew what made the other tick and they were so perfect and beautiful together that it really made my heart hurt.

I knew you wouldn’t blame me if I’d found someone else to love while you’ve been dead. It’s been a thousand years, and I’m not a bloody saint. You of all people know that best. But…Arthur, no one’s ever made me feel the way you did. No one, no matter how hard I’ve tried to recreate our relationship or find something to put you out of my mind. And it genuinely doesn’t work. Back when drugs were my thing, I would fuck a lot of men. Had lots of pulls—just one offs, nothing serious. And I would wish that it was you instead of them and it just made me feel even more guilty and hurt even more and hate myself way more than I should have. And I met a really nice bloke once. His name was Daniel. He was a literature major at the local university and he was kind and gentle but outspoken—you know, a really good soul. And we had a relationship type thing that lasted a good long while. But I wasn’t happy. I was content, yes, and I was at ease around him…but it wasn’t the same. I was never in love with him. And we both knew it. Eventually he got tired of waiting around and he left in search of something better, no hard feelings between us. That was some twenty odd years ago. I wonder if he ever found that happiness. At least one of us deserves it.

Sorry. You probably didn’t want to hear that. Probably don’t wanna hear half the shite I write to you in my letters. Talking was something I always did, what annoyed you the most. My day wasn’t complete without a ‘Shut up, Merlin’ from you, because I was a downright blathering idiot, wasn’t I? But you loved that about me. You loved a lot about me, didn’t you, Arthur? Because I know I loved a hell of a lot about you. Nothing you could have done could have changed that for me—not even if you decided my magic made me evil and exposed me to the world and had me executed for it. And I thank the Gods you adapted to it because it killed me to not be my true self around you.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Point being is, I’m lonely without you. And I don’t want to go on another hopeless quest to find someone that can replace you. No one can replace you in my books, Arthur. You are utterly irreplaceable to me. And I don’t want to fill my time with people who are just going to make me feel even more lonely and hollow than I do by myself with my laptop nursing a white chocolate mocha. And I don’t want to look at the past and remember all of our little details about our time together. I want to create more memories with you, Arthur. I want to be that cute couple who walks in to the coffee shop and others are in awe of how well we fit together. I want to spend nights arguing with you over films, wrapped up in blankets together. I want a lot more of a future well spent with you, Arthur Pendragon. Don’t you want the same?

Love, Merlin


	7. Chapter 7

Dear Arthur,

Today was a decent day. I felt okay. Things finally felt like they were coming together. I sucked up the loneliness I felt, sucked up all kinds of emotions, got myself out there, and had a pretty fucking fantastic interview at the local hospital. Well, one of them. The pay is shite, but it’s a hospital to help the poor get the care they need. And it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done this. In the early days I took all the medical training Gaius gave me and applied it. And then I studied my arse off, put myself through medical school, got my job at a tiny hospital in Wales. But even with all my medical training, all my magic, there were some patient I couldn’t save, and that just hurt. But I want to help. I don’t want to be passive anymore. I need to focus, get my mind off of my self-pity, and really live. I just wish you were here to live through it with me.

Things would be great if you were here, Arthur. I promise. We would go on lots of morning runs together, have steamy shower sex afterwards, go to our collective jobs (you would probably be a business associate or something with power like that. Yeah, I can totally see that.) then we would come home to the flat we share together, order some takeout (mostly Chinese or Thai) and watch some telly and argue with each other about the plot and the characters and we would be happy together. We would have colleagues and a close knit group of friends we hung out with (maybe you would join a sports team. I can totally see you as a footie star) and we could go out to the pub with them on weekends, order rounds of drinks, be lively and friendly and be really comfortable with ourselves. I want comfort but also passion. I want to live that kind of lifestyle with you. I’m not sure how long I can be strong without you, but I’m going to try.

Alone at night it struck me how follow and haunted my flat is. It would have made it a lot better if I could just snuggle up to you and fall asleep after a long hard day. I want this reality so much. And so I’m going to try, so maybe when you do come back to life and rise out of that lake you’ll see a happy, healthy Merlin, not a lonely fake. I don’t think you would be very enthusiastic about the hollow man I can make myself become. I want to greet you as the best person I can muster without your company.

Please come back to life, Arthur. I want to show you the beauty and wonder of life shared with those closest to you again. I want to give you a second lease on life. And I want that now.

Love, Merlin


	8. Chapter 8

Dear Arthur,

Something happened today. Something I didn’t mean to let happen. I almost killed someone by using magic. Haven’t done that since the war in Vietnam. Not that it helped much. But I let my temper get the best of me and almost ended this boy’s life.

I’ve been trying to take Lilly under my wing still. She’s really stubborn, doesn’t like to listen to other people, and fights for her own opinion. In ways she still reminds me of Morgana. Sometimes it hurts, but mostly I just want to help her. Lately she’s been…well, hanging out with some people that I don’t particularly like. I kept my mouth shut, because who am I to judge? And it’s not as if I’m a bloody saint or whatever. But this one guy, Malcolm, crossed the line.

It wasn’t really any of my business what Lilly and Malcolm were getting up to when she asked me to come over and drop some stuff off for her, but I made it my business when I could hear him yelling at her. Next thing I know he’s grabbing her arm and shoving her into her bedroom wall so hard the plaster cracks and slaps her across the face. Before I knew what I was doing, I was pulling him off her, shoving him out the door, and my magic is choking him to death. Then I realised I was about to take this guy’s life, and whether he deserved it or not, it wasn’t my call, so I released the magical hold, wiped his brain, and told him to get lost.

Lilly says she’s okay, apart from the bruises and pissed off at the hole in her wall she can’t afford to fix, but I said I’d take care of that. I stayed with her last night. We stayed up curled under a blanket on her house watching classic episodes of Doctor Who and smoking cigarettes and drinking peppermint tea. I liked being there for her, but I hated that I had a reason to, and I was ashamed at how I let my temper get the best of me. We all fly off the handle sometimes. I’m just not used to my emotions controlling my magic.

It all turned out okay, I think, and Lilly promised she wasn’t going to see Malcolm again. For her sake, I hope that’s true. And for his, if he knows what’s good for him. I wish you had been there that night, too. You would like Lilly, I know you would. Maybe you’ll wake up soon and I can introduce her to you. We can be best friends, all three of us.  
I hope you want that too, Arthur.

Love, Merlin


	9. Chapter 9

Dear Arthur,

I’m so tired of people and life. Does it ever end, the pain and misery? Does it ever become okay in the end? I’m so tired of living on this way. I’m tired of living without you. I’ve heard too much, seen too much. It’s hard to bear at times. I don’t know how people can be strong. It just hurts.

I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m sorry for everything, sorry I fucked everything up in Camelot. It was all my fault. Everything. You know that, right? Maybe Uther was right. Maybe magic is evil. Maybe it does corrupt. I certainly haven’t made the best choices. Neither did Morgana or Mordred or even Morgause. They were never to blame. Maybe magic was. After all, obtaining something of such power always has the ability to break even the kindest of souls.

I don’t know anything anymore, Arthur. Not one thing. It’s 4am and I feel like everything I’ve known is falling apart. I just want to rest. My bones are weary from this long journey. My mind aches of centuries never being able to rest. I want to let it all go. Do you reckon that’s possible?

Wish you were here to make things seem simple and carefree. I just wish you were here. Maybe then things could be a little clearer. Maybe then I could finally seek my eternal rest. But only till then, my old friend. Only till then.

Love, Merlin


	10. Chapter 10

Dear Arthur,

Once upon a time there was a dragonlord and his name was Balinor. He could tame dragons, could talk to them. He was happy and healthy and everything was going good in his life. Then came the evil king, who tricked the dragonlord into capturing the last dragon and chaining him up in the vaults beneath the castle. The evil king Uther hunted Balinor down, even when he was outside his realm and in the small village of Ealdor. In Ealdor lives a beautiful caring woman named Hunith, a woman the dragonlord had grown to care for very deeply. He was forced to flee the woman he loved and the child she was carrying.

This child grew up without a father. This child was born with magic, made things move without realising what he was doing. He lived in constant danger. He had to hide the best parts of himself away from everyone. He was lonely and shy and had only one friend until he was forced to move to Camelot, where said evil king persecuted this young warlock’s kind.

Even though the young warlock could not be himself, he still found acceptance among his peers. He found fast friends with a lovely handmaiden named Guinevere and found his destiny in protecting the spoilt prince Arthur. He even had a crush on the Lady Morgana at one point, before she found out about the magic she harboured and he had to poison her in order to save a whole kingdom.

This young warlock found himself going from hating the prince’s guts to having a grudging respect to sheer awe and love beyond anything he had ever known for the prince. And it was only to his shock he found the little prat felt the same way for the gawky, clumsy warlock. They began to meet in secret, sharing stolen kisses here and a few gropes there, until the prince admitted that even though he loved his servant, no one could ever know about them, no matter what. He played along as Arthur pretended to have affections for Guinevere and supported their holy union. Gwen had lost the love of her life and was more than willing to cover for the two lovers, pretending Arthur and her were in love, so they could build a love story of their own.

The warlock and the new king spent many years in a secret relationship, happily content with each other and more passionate as the years wore on. They were two sides of the same coin, the half of the other’s whole. The warlock continued to use his magic to save the king’s life until one day it was too late and the king lay dying in the warlock’s arms. No matter what the warlock did, whatever power he used, he could not save the king’s life.

He journeyed back to Camelot and lived a hollow existence, only half the man he used to be. A part of him died every time he watched another friend grow old and leave him, knowing he would never die alongside them. He continued on through life, never the same, never quite whole, just waiting for the moment his knight in shining armour would arise again and wake him from his perpetual nightmare and replace it with a storybook fantasy.

The young warlock is still waiting for that to happen. He is alone, he is numb, he is wishing on every bright star for the king to come back again. Though he had new things and new people to fill the spaces of his old wounds, he never completely healed. The warlock still carries his battle wounds with him wherever he goes. He is lost and can’t find his way back to true happiness.

The world needs both the king and his lionheart for the balance of the world to be maintained. Everything is falling apart wherever the warlock, no longer young, turns. It is a bleak existence and he can only hope the king will arise soon and restore the world to its former glory, a time of true peace for all.

And then they can all live happily ever after.

Love, Merlin


	11. Chapter 11

Dear Arthur,

Some days it’s crippling how much I miss Camelot, how much I miss everyone from Camelot. I miss being able to talk to Gaius about my magic.  I miss teasing Gwen.  I miss all those nights  around the campfire during quests and those nights holed up in the tavern, joking and carefree with all the knights.  Do you remember all those times Gwaine got so drunk?  And those times he dragged me into it as well, how we would sing at the top of our lungs as we spilled out of the tavern and into the streets, wobbling our way to our chambers with our arms flung around each other?  I miss talking to Percival about life outside of Camelot, all the advantages and disadvantages of living in a small town where magic was permitted rather than outlawed.  I miss when Leon pretended he didn’t know what you and I were getting up to in the corridors of the castle and how he would always swallow our bullshit excuses, like that one time I told him I was teaching you poetry.  I was always so grateful he never said anything, though I always saw the way he rolled his eyes at each new lame excuse we concocted.  I was always a terrible liar.  Still am.

Growing up in Ealdor I didn’t have friends.  It was just me, my mum, and Will.  Will was a troublemaker and I was suspicious by association, cast away into a social hell because I was always so afraid of someone discovering my magic.  Even though in Cenred’s kingdom it was legal, it didn’t mean people were any more accepting about it.  And then I came to Camelot to find myself, to find a place where I belonged.  You asked me once if I had find it, and I hadn’t been sure that I had then.  But then all the knights showed up and treated me like one of them though I was just your clumsy manservant, and I felt good, felt at home.  And I liked feeling at home.

I never wanted to lose that feeling.  And it hurt more than words could say to see everyone one by one leave me, to die and never come back.  One by one it felt like holes were ripping my heart, the place that once felt like home was now becoming a bitter prison sentence.  First I lose Will, but you were there for that.  Saved your life ‘cause he knew what you meant to me even then, saved you so I wouldn’t have to tell you about my magic, though I eventually told you later on anyway.  And then there was Freya, although you didn’t know her.  She was a Druid girl I’d seen locked in a cage.  I had hidden her in Camelot, fell in love with her, was going to run away with her and leave everything behind.  And then I found out she was cursed, that she turned into an animal at night and killed people.  I was still willing to run away with her, but it turns out she was wounded while in her animal form and died in my arms.  Freya became the guardian of Avalon; the legends refer to her as the Lady of the Lake.  She watches over you, Arthur, makes sure you’re okay and ready for when Albion needs you. 

And then it was all the knights: first Lancelot, then Elyan.  And then that battle of Camlann where I’d lost four of my good friends from that wretched war.  I lost Gwaine, my best friend, my confidant, the one person I thought could truly be at peace with me.  I lost Mordred, so young and full of promise, who made all the wrong decisions, who was blinded by that love he claimed was so much more important than power.  Then there was Morgana, lost long ago, the moment I had chosen to poison her.  But this was the final blow.  I had created a monster out of her and I had to finally put her down, finally ease her suffering.  It felt like losing her all over when the memories of a thoughtful, kind Morgana were always there to remind me of the person she had once been.  And you.  I lost you that day.  I failed to keep you alive, and that hurt more than anything else combined.  You were my love, my life, my everything.  I sacrificed so many things for you, for your namesake, because of what you mean to me.  I loved you with a pierce passion, a fire burning at the core of me, flames building higher and bigger, licking my heart and burning my throat with every breath.  I physically needed you, wanted you, couldn’t breathe without you.  And then I had to let you go, had to watch as you died right there in my arms, helpless and screaming and crying because I didn’t want to let you go, because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it should’ve been me who died in your place.

And then as the years progressed and I accepted my destiny as Emrys, the immortal, I watched Gaius grow too old and weary and pass away in his sleep.  I remember when the news got back to Camelot that Percival set out on a journey with Galahad, never coming back from their mission, never heard from again, leaving Percival’s wife Blanchefleur to take care of their young son Lohengrin on her own.  I watched as Gwen played a broken queen, how Leon mended her wounds with his friendship that soon turned into love, and how a sickness I couldn’t cure had attached itself to her bones, and she died weak in her husband’s arms.  My mother died not long after Gwen, too far away for me to use my magic to save her.  Leon was the one of our former knights who served until he couldn’t any longer, lived well beyond his years, and then collapsed in the streets of Camelot when he could go on no longer.  There were others after that—Bors, Lamorak, Kay, Bedivere, Pellinore, Gaheris, Gareth, Geraint—but they were all after your reign.  And one by one they all died and Camelot was a hollow empty place for me and I was so bone weary and there was nowhere to call my own anymore.

I keep thinking maybe they’ll come back to life too, when you do.  We could all be a family again, the best of friends.  We could get flats near each other, have certain times where we all get together and catch up, just be close again.  I miss the camaraderie of my old friend.  I miss you all so much, and nothing can fill those spaces, those scars, of living an abnormally long life, not even making new memories with new people in my life.  Nothing is as good as the original.  Is it selfish to want it all back, that safe and peaceful feeling, where I felt okay in my skin?  Sometimes I forgot all about my secret, the magic I possessed, while in the company of my mates.  I felt free, not like the weight of Camelot’s future was resting on me, though of course it was, and the feeling of being okay faded whenever I was alone.

I just want a chance to go back, a do over.  To cherish more memories, to handle situation differently, to be bolder and brighter and not so afraid of everything.  To find myself again.  To find you and relive the magic (no pun intended) of discovering each other.  I want it all back.

But I suppose since there’s no magic button to go back in time, I’ll just have to wait to create more memories with you, even if I know I will have to let you go a second time, and how it will hurt so much more than the first.  Because what will happen if you come back, Arthur?  You’re only human.  You cannot live forever.  I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.  You will come into the world as you are now, you will give, grow old, and die.  And my only wish is that I could die with you, but I know such dreams cannot be.  I’m sorry about that, Arthur.  Sorry I can never truly sacrifice myself for you.  Sorry I am the way I am.  I’m just sorry I’ll have to see you go again.

We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, though.  I don’t want to think about that now.  I just want to immerse myself in my nostalgia, to nurse a beer and think about all the good times I’ve had, not the bad ones I will inevitably face again.  I can fall asleep dreaming about life in Camelot and maybe it will feel as if I am still there, as if time has stood still instead of moving forward.  I can almost dream you’re here with me, the ghost of your fingers on my skin, your breath hot on my neck, the press of your erection against my bare arse.  I can almost dream we are in love and happy, ready to face the things that come are way, so long as we have each other.  I can almost pretend.

Love, Merlin


	12. Chapter 12

Dear Arthur,

I had a nervous breakdown.  Or whatever the fuck it’s called.  I panicked.  One too many dead patients, one too many broken people in the world, too many nights without anything to feed my heroin addiction.

I fucked up again and I’m so so sorry, Arthur.  I really was going to get clean for you and I slipped.  I screwed it up.  I let myself spiral down again.  And I’m paying the price for it, trust me.  I’ve been spending all day in the loo with my head stuck inside a toilet, tremors shaking my whole body, sweating out my sickness.  I’ve forgotten how much the drugs make me sick when I stop using them for a long time and then use as much as I did last night.  I just needed something, Arthur, something to take my mind off everything.  Something to numb me but make me feel pain at the same time.  To make me forget all reasons I need to be punished while punishing me at the same time.  Every day is not a blessing for me, it’s more like a curse, living as long as I have, and every day it scares me just a little bit more.  I just need to be reassured every now and again that things aren’t always as they seem.  Even though I’m living proof of that, having fooled all of Camelot into thinking I was a simple servant for so many years.

Now I don’t know what to do with the rest of my drugs.  I’ve got enough left for maybe two more hits.  I don’t want to throw them out but at the same time I’m not sure that keeping them around is wise.  Sometimes it’s like a calming thing, you know?  Like just knowing that it’s there if I ever need to use it gives me strength to resist it or whatever.  I’m probably not making any sense to you.  I tend to freak out when I realise it’s gone and then I’m frantically searching for more, but if I’m certain it’s there just in case, I don’t know, it just reassures me.  Guess you know how fucked up I am now, huh?  As if you didn’t know that before from the myriad of thing I’ve already said to you.

On a side note, I splurged and bought myself an acoustic guitar.  And I say splurged in the fact that it’s a second hand guitar, dings in the wood and stuff, but it still works well.  I prefer to think of her as well loved rather than used.  I haven’t named her yet.  Can’t think of something that won’t sound completely cheesy.  I taught myself guitar many years ago and always played when the mood struck, but I’ve never really had a guitar to call my own.  Maybe now that I’ve got the instrument at my disposal it’ll help me calm down.  I can play lots of The Smiths for you, and The Cure and The National and lots of other bands whose name has The in front of it.  I can even sing to you sometime if you’d like, if you promise not to laugh at me or make some prattish jab at my voice.  I know you will, Arthur, and one comment out of you and I’ll stop playing for you altogether.  Let’s make that clear right now, you clotpole.

I guess right now I’m writing to you because I’m consumed by grief, a deep down sadness that I don’t have a name for anymore.  I needed to do something constructive before I decided to use those hits I’ve got stashed away in a drawer.  But I think I’ll trade the drugs in for a cup of lemon tea and a semi good night’s rest.

Sleep well in Avalon, Arthur.  I hope like me you’ll awake when morning comes.

Love, Merlin


	13. Chapter 13

Dear Arthur,

I think it’s time to say goodbye to you, to close the book and stop writing these pages.  It’s over.  I don’t understand the concept of faith, which has been wavering so much lately.  Take a look at the world and all you see is misery everywhere.  There is still war, there is still bloodshed, there is hate and angst and some really bloody awful things that people have to deal with.  This is a hopeless existence I have to crawl through eternity after eternity, watching places crumble and people break with the pressure they are put under.  Things fall apart and die and leave.  Things fade because the hope and happiness and faith have been leached from the peoples’ hearts.  And I’ve fallen prey to that.

I said I’d never let you go, Arthur, and I never did.  But I think it’s time to move on.  I can’t die, I can’t make things right in this world, and I’m forced to live without the comfort you used to bring me.  Some days I see things crystal clear.  I can smile and laugh.  I can joke with people.  I have spikes of happiness that take over in my chest and I don’t know what to do with them.  I go out for beers at pubs with coworkers or I go out to the cinema with Lilly and there’s a pang in my chest where something is missing.  And I know it’s you.  It’s a thirst for you that can never be quenched.  It’s heartache and loneliness, a pain that goes so deep that it cannot be dug out or healed.  I am damaged and the worst part about it is that I can’t just get rid of it.  I tried with the drugs.  Do you know how often I’ve tried to die over the years, Arthur?  How many times I took a knife to my gut after you died?  How worried I had my mother and Gaius and Gwen?  How they suffered because I suffered alone without you?  Do you know how many times I tried to get myself killed in battle, to overdose, to take a knife and just slash and slash until there was bloody stains in the carpet I couldn’t get rid of?  Do you know the anguish I felt, the curse of my magic?  Magic is not always beautiful, all golden sunshine and tricks.  It’s brutal and harsh and ugly.  I’ve killed people with my magic.  It’s twisted me in ways I can’t express, it’s taken people from me, taken parts of myself along with it that I can never get back.  Magic is corrosive.  I am burdened by the fact I am Emrys.  I want to be normal.  I wanted to grow old and die at your side like I always promised you.  I wanted to be your servant until the day I died.  I wanted it all, growing gray, getting old, watching the younger villagers and laugh knowingly with you when they remind us of the people we used to be in our youth.  I can fake being an old man, being Dragoon the Great, but I am not him.  I am just Merlin.  I am an immortal shell of myself, and I have never been so sad or alone or burdened by anything in my entire life.

And I cannot hold onto anything, because everything fades.  Nothing in this life is certain; it’s all tentative, fleeting, quick to leave and shape and change.  All except for me.  I am a being that is too powerful, who should not exist.  I am an imbalance in this world.  And you are never coming back, because nothing good ever happens to me, not really.  I can dream and imagine and pray to the gods that maybe, just maybe everything I was told about my destiny wasn’t a lie.  Because really, what good did I do in Camelot?  Yes, I saved your life many ties, but at a price.  We had a plan, Arthur.  We were supposed to bring magic back to the earth.  You were supposed to reign for years in a golden age of harmony in Camelot.  You were supposed to be the greatest king Albion has ever known, so good that he could never truly die forever, and I was supposed to be the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known that travelled by your side and advised you.  And we never achieved that goal.  I failed.  I let Mordred take your life before magic could be restored.  You were king of Camelot for in a troubled time, never knowing peace, never having found that harmonious balance we were supposed to bring about.  I doubt the gods will keep their promise of bringing you back after I failed them so horribly.  Your fate was sealed, Arthur, and I helped seal that fate.  And I will never forgive myself for the part I played in the failing of your destiny, how my life intertwined with yours and fucked everything up.  Perhaps things would have been better, easier, if I had stayed in Ealdor with Will and had never tried to get a handle on my powers like my mother wanted me to.  I would have been happy, I suppose, being the outsider, the clumsy boy with the big ears and long legs, always saving that troublemaker friend of mine.  Perhaps that would have been a better life for both of us.  You would never have had to disappoint your father by marrying Gwen.  Morgana would never have changed into the person she became.  You would be happy and rule the land until you were old and gray and no longer powerful with your trusted knights and loyal subjects grieving at your feet, not grieving with the poor servant you left behind.

I’m sorry.  I always fuck things up, don’t I?  Sometimes I do too much good, sometimes I don’t do enough.  Sometimes I take too many risks, sometimes I stop taking them out of fear.  I let things bother me too often and other times I pretend they never happened.  I am a mess of contradictions and it is only getting worse.  It is weighing heavily on me.  There is a sorrow like an ocean inside of me, a tsunami swallowing me up, drowning me.  Sadness is consuming, getting worse, taking over.  Surely nothing left of me will be here in the years to come.  Not anymore.  I’m just tired and no matter how hard I fake that things are getting better and that I am happier I know none of it matters, Arthur.  None of it ever mattered without you.

Fuck.  I’m so drunk right now.  I think Gwaine would be impressed with the amount of whisky I’ve drunk tonight, the bottles I’ve consumed.  Don’t worry, cariad, it’s not like I can die of alcohol poisoning.  Immortal, remember?  All I can get is a fuzzy head and thoughts I don’t want and a bitterness that gets tangled up in my head and drags me down.  I can’t swallow it all away, but I can swallow my alcohol and hope it eases the pain just a little bit. I’m guessing you’d be disappointed with me if we were still back in Camelot.  But we’re not and I need to stop thinking that I can do all these things and think all these thoughts and that I can go back.  There is no magical time machine that will take me back to the past.  The Doctor isn’t going to show up in his TARDIS, slap some sense into me, take me back to Camelot, and let me feel things I thought I would never feel again.  He can’t take me to the future and show me whether you come back to life or not.  All I get is this: the present.  The immensity of my aloneness.  My sadness is not beautiful.  It is crippling.  My life is not a faerytale.  It is a nightmare, the deepest pits of Hell.  I am not the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, I am the loneliest.  I am the last of my kind.  I am the Doctor.  Now I know how he feels.  Except, of course, he’s only fictional, and I am a real, living, breathing body, stuck in this world, and I can’t go back and fix things, and I can’t die.  All I can do is exist.

This world is nothing without you, Arthur.  And so now I can stop pretending.

Love, Merlin.

 

Merlin spills his tumbler of whisky all over the pages and goes to the kitchen to gather paper towels.  He cleans up the mess, his mind stuck inside some sort of memories, and breaks down.  He falls onto his bed, curled tightly into a ball, clutching his sides like he’ll split in half, and sobbing until he can’t anymore.  He falls asleep and when he wakes up 15 hours later, groggy and bleary eyed, he looks at the letter sitting on his desk.  The pages are dry, but the ink is smeared and blurry from the alcohol and the pages faintly reek, and Merlin cheeks flush in embarrassment.  He tears the pages up into tiny little pieces and throws them into the rubbish bin and doesn’t give it a second thought.  He just sighs, bone tired, and goes through the motions like he does every day, because he has nothing left to do, and he is, truly and after all, alone in a world where everyone else is alone.


	14. Chapter 14

Merlin sat down at his desk, headphones in his ears, and his pen hovered over a crisp, clean sheet of paper.  He felt like he should write something to Arthur.  It had been weeks since he last wrote out the details of his life, his feelings.  Things had just been static for him lately: neither up nor down, and wasn’t exactly sure what to write, what he wanted to say.  He tried to write out a sentence and then quickly scribbled it out.  He tore the sheet of paper from his notebook and chucked it towards his bin, starting over fresh.

He was a couple paragraphs into his new letter when he stopped to read over his words.  And then he sighed.  Merlin was feeling disconnected to everything lately.  He wasn’t happy, wasn’t sad.  He was numb and everything that came out of his mouth was utter crap lately.  Arthur deserved more than a slew of bullshite thrown onto a piece of paper just for the hell of it.  He deserved passages of brilliant prose and details descriptions, and this…this wankery he was writing now, was probably the furthest thing from it.

Merlin tore the sheet of paper out of his notebook again, crumbled it up, and launched it at the bin with the other paper.  Then he closed his notebook, turned off his lamp light, and exited his room.  He entered the kitchen and decided to make dinner for himself and Lilly: something light, airy, vegetarian, even though he knew Lilly would probably make a face at his food choices (“Animals were put on this earth for us to eat, so why not eat them?” she’d insist, but she had grown used to Merlin cooking with tofu and seitan strips instead of meat).  Lilly entered the flat loudly, complaining about how she never wanted to talk to her parents again and she thought things would be different if she gave them another chance, but they never were.  Merlin politely talked to her about it as he finished making their meal.  They ate dinner while she continued to complain.  They watched few episodes of _Star Trek_ , where Merlin patiently explained things to Lilly, who just wasn’t understanding the show at all, and then they parted ways.

Merlin silently dressed in his pyjamas, brushed his teeth, and curled into his bed with his _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy.  He read a few chapters before turning out his light and looking at the empty space beside him where Arthur used to be.  He smiled a lonely, watery smile and stared up at the ceiling.  He created images of dragons, of knights in silver chainmail, of memories half remembered, from his golden magic, until his sorrow got so deep he had to sleep the memories away, and wake up the next morning wishing none of this had ever happened to him.

Merlin wakes up the next day, still numb, still in a slump.  He goes to work, saves a couple lives, takes away some people’s pain with his magic, wraps up wounds and broken bones, and then goes home to the flat he now shares with Lilly, although he still kept his old flat for when things got really bad again. He goes through his same daily routine: sits down to try and write a letter to Arthur, scraps what he’s written, goes to make dinner for him and Lilly, politely talks to her about her day, watches a few episodes of telly with her, reads more of his books before bed, and then cries himself to sleep because he misses his life in Camelot, misses Arthur in the very fabric of his being.  He does this over and over again, stuck in this rut.  There is nothing for him.  He wants Arthur back, hopes he will arrive soon, hopes things won’t be so hard this time around.  All Merlin has is hope for something that might never come to pass.

One day it becomes too much for Merlin.  He’s frustrated to his core that he can’t seem to get his thoughts together to write another letter to Arthur.  He’s desperate to get something useful done, wants to get out of this slump he’s been stuck in.  He snapped the pen in his hands, spilling ink all over his notebook, and sighed.  He slid open his desk drawer and stared at the syringe he had there, the heroin he had stashed just in case he ever needed it.  He couldn’t help but feel like he needed a dose, a small pick me up that maybe would result in things changing for him.  He hated just coasting by, not feeling anything.  He needed heroin, needed something to lift him from this spell.

He reached out, held the syringe in his hand, contemplating whether or not to use the drugs as a salve for his tortured mind.  He must have sat there a good long while, holding it in his hands, thinking through his decisions, before slowly, torturously, he put the syringe back where it came from and closed the drawer so he wouldn’t see it and change his mind.

Merlin continued on with his daily routines, stuck inside his rut, wanting Arthur back, wanting him to come back soon.  He was ready for a change.


	15. Chapter 15

Merlin was curled up on the sofa next to Lilly, an orange highlighter in his mouth and a Charles Bukowski book in his hands, half reading the book and half watching an episode of _Sherlock_ that was on the telly.  He was highlighting a passage of text and watching Sherlock and John run from Scotland Yard when he felt it.  At first he didn’t know what he was feeling and then he realised it was his magic.  His magic was literally singing in his veins, all warm and golden and humming, coursing through his body, in between his bones, his fingertips, glowing within him.  He could feel power rising up, whispers in his mind, _the once and future king_ , and he knew.  Arthur was back.

He threw the book down on the couch and rushed out the door of the flat without a word, without shoes or keys or anything.  He ran without looking back, ran as fast as he could to Lake Avalon, to his Arthur, his king.  He knew now all his hoping hadn’t been in vain.  His king was back now and everything was going to be okay.  Merlin had been through so much waiting for Arthur to rise and now he was here, and all of his troubles and all the shit he’d been through didn’t matter anymore—it was just water under the bridge, over and forgotten.  Arthur was back; that was all that mattered.  Arthur was back and he was going to make everything better.

His magic was propelling him forward.  It didn’t take him long to reach his destination.  He wondered what it was going to be like now that Arthur was here in the modern era.  Was Arthur going to remember everything that happened in Camelot?  Was he going to be exactly the same was he was back then?  Merlin wasn’t sure what to think about what was going to happen and nerves began to get the best of him.  Maybe Arthur had only accepted his magic because he knew he was dying.  Maybe he wouldn’t want to be around Merlin anymore.  Maybe he didn’t want to be back alive.  After all, things sucked nowadays.  Merlin wasn’t sure what was going to happen but he knew it would work itself out.  He could feel it would.

When he reached the lake, he could feel Arthur’s presence.  His magic was warmer, vibrating within him, but he could feel someone else’s presence too: Freya.  Her image manifested itself in the clear water.  She looked the same as she had all those years ago.  She was smiling wide, brown eyes gleaming with a glee he had missed so much.

“Merlin,” she breathed.  “It’s good to see you.”

“Freya,” he said.  It was good to see her too.  He missed her.  Seeing her was like a stab to his heart.  It made him remember that night he met her in the cage, how he let her out, hid her in Camelot, snuck food and clothes out to her, promised to run away with her, somewhere with a lake and land and a couple of cows.  And then she had died and he couldn’t tell a soul because no one would understand how he fell in love with a Druid girl cursed to kill people every night.  He had grown up and fell in love with Arthur, but he’d never forgotten Freya, never stopped missing her.

“It’s time,” Freya said.  “Albion needs Arthur.  I’ve been keeping his body safe for you.  The Sidhe have helped him heal, helped make him brand new again.”

Merlin sighed heavily.  “So no stab wound?”

“No stab wound.  He’s as good as new.  Better than new, actually.  Magic’s helped him all these years.”

“Will he remember what happened in Camelot?” Merlin asked.  “About Mordred and Morgana and my magic?”

Freya smiled sadly at him.  “He’ll remember if you want him to.  The Sidhe can always take away the memories, let you create a new person with new memories if that’s what you want.”

Merlin thought about that for a second.  It would be easier if Arthur couldn’t remember the pain and betrayal of his old life, the things that happened, the people he’d surrounded himself with.  But Merlin spent every day he had been in love with the king lying to him and he was done with lying.  He didn’t want to lie to Arthur anymore.  He wanted him to know everything.  Besides, wasn’t that the reason he wrote letters to Arthur all the time, to let him know everything, to let him know that Merlin wasn’t afraid to be himself around Arthur anymore?

“No, I want him to know,” Merlin said.

Freya smiled at Merlin.  “I miss you,” she said.

“I miss you too.”

“But Arthur’s back, and you love him.  So go love him.  Go be with him.  Use your magic to help him save Albion.  Live your life again, Merlin.  You’re more powerful than you know and you have the chance to use your gifts for good again, with the man you love by your side, with a new lease on life.”

Merlin beamed at her, feeling happy but sad at the same time.  He wished Freya could get a second chance at life, too.  He wished that so much for her.  “I’m sorry I haven’t visited you enough, Freya.”

“Merlin, it’s okay.  I understand.  I’ve seen many things since Camelot.  The world has turned on.  I’m just glad I got to see you again before I go.”

“Go?”

Freya’s eyes dimmed, looked cloudy in the water.  “I watched over Arthur until the day Albion needed him because you needed it.  But Arthur’s ready now and there’s no further use for me.  Magic is fading from the earth and it’s time for me to go, to leave.”

Merlin didn’t want her to go, didn’t want to say goodbye.  She’d more than repayed him, but he didn’t know what she was repaying him for.  He hadn’t done anything besides thank her for all the trouble she’s gone through on his behalf and he felt ashamed he couldn’t have done anything to ease her suffering.

“Thank you, for all you’ve done,” he told her.  He wished she were real, flesh and blood, right in front of him.  He wished he could touch her cheek, pull her close to him one last time, before she left.

“No, thank you, Merlin, for showing me such kindness.  Go enjoy your life.”

Her image faded from the water and Merlin stepped back from the edge of the lake, waiting for what would happen next.  In the distance he spotted a boat drifting its way towards him.  He used his magic to take a look at it.  Arthur was in the boat, lying down as if he were dead, but there was colour in his cheeks and his chest was rising and falling.  He was still wearing his chainmail, prepared for battle, with Excalibur at his side.  Merlin made the boat float to shore faster with his magic and suddenly Arthur and the boat was right there, right in his grasp, in his hands.

Arthur’s eyes opened and he sat up in the boat, looking sleepy and dull-eyed, his blond hair mussed.  Merlin’s breath caught in his throat.  This is what he had been waiting for, what he had been dreaming about for years and years.  Arthur was here, he was alive.  He was real, and he was here with Merlin, and that’s more than he could ever ask for in his life.

His throat was thick with his emotions and he had to clear it before he could speak.  “Hey,” he said, rushing over to Arthur’s side and hauling him out of the boat and onto dry land.  He supported Arthur’s weight with a hand around his middle section.  He had to fight the urge to stare up at his king’s face in awe, memorising every feature over again.  His eyes were beginning to mist with the pure joy of seeing someone he loved safe in his arms again.  If he hadn’t been immortal he would’ve though he had died and gone to Heaven, some place that gave him delusions of everything he’d wanted, that reunited him with his deepest desire.  But it was real and it was finally happening and Merlin was so happy he couldn’t stand it.

The magic inside of him brimmed with happiness, flowing smoothly through him, at ease in his skin.  He hadn’t felt this pleasant and on good terms with his magic since Camelot.  But here it was, and it recognised Arthur.  It was calling out to him, trying to join the two, make the two halves become whole once again.  The king and his lionheart, two sides of the same coin, all that other bullshite Kilgharrah had spouted to him over the years.  It was true, it was his destiny, and his magic was finally content and happy with Arthur’s return.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Merlin said, sniffling back his tears and carrying Arthur back to his flat, his tiny, lonely flat, so the two of them could talk.

Arthur seemed to be looking around, taking in all of his surroundings, dumfounded about where he was or what was going on.  He looked like a newborn discovering the world around him.

“Merlin?” he whispered, confused and in awe, slightly frightened of everything going on around him.  One second he was dying in his lover’s arms and the next he was here, being carted off by the man he thought he’d never see again, never get to hold.  He was overwhelmed.

“Yeah, Arthur, it’s me.  It’s Merlin.  Let’s get you home and then we’ll talk, okay?”

Arthur nodded and let Merlin support him all the way back to Merlin’s flat where the two of them talked and got to pick up where things left off, got to know each other again.  It seemed like a new beginning, the start of something wonderful for the both of them.


	16. Chapter 16

Arthur clutched the box of letters tightly in his hands.  There were so many letters here.  So many of them addressed to him.  His heart was heavy with the fact Merlin had lived whole other lives without him, without his friends, seemingly all alone.  Arthur couldn’t imagine a world where he had to live without his continued support—back in Camelot the council had been the one thing that kept him running.  Arthur had so many moments where he doubted himself; about whether he was a good leader, about whether he was doing the right thing for his people, about how to approach certain subjects, and his friends had been what helped him through.  The most loyal of his knights followed him into every war.  Merlin followed him into battle as well.  Merlin told him he was special, challenged his thinking, gave him insight into a world he had not come from.  Guinevere was always the bridge between the wealthy and the villagers—she was friends with everyone, and she made sure Arthur knew what the people expected, what made them respect him as a king, what their lifestyle was like.  If Arthur had been left alone as the world turned and new innovations arose, he would be utterly lost.  He was nothing if he didn’t have his friends and it upset him greatly to know Merlin had been the one to lose so much on that battlefield, when he was the one who had the most to gain.

With fingers that trembled, Arthur plucked the first letter from the top of the stack.  He felt the smoothness of the white envelope beneath his fingers.  How many years did Merlin sit here, writing to Arthur, hoping one day he would come back to life?  What did Merlin even write about?  Arthur wasn’t sure he wanted to know all the details.  He saw a haunted look in Merlin’s eyes, a look that had not been there back in Camelot.  Merlin had always had the weight of destiny dragging him down, Arthur knew that now, but somehow there was still light in his eyes back then, still hope.  He realised now of course that hope was because he believed in Arthur.  But after centuries of being alone, waiting for Arthur to come back, that hope had dimmed, and all he saw was shadows, the blue not vibrant anymore, but cloudy, dull.  He wanted to change that around, make Merlin believe again.  Make him happy.  He just didn’t know where to start.

When he’d first come back to life, he was confused.  He wasn’t sure what was going on.  He was scared and hesitant of the changes to the land, to everything that had been going on, to the fact that he had died and now he was back on Earth.  But Merlin had been there for him, patient and kind, and told Arthur the basics of what happened with him, how he was back, what that meant.  He tried to explain how the world was different, and honestly Arthur still didn’t get a lot of it.  There were so many things now that had changed and Merlin was adamant to tell him that none of it was magic, that magic was not the same as it had been in Camelot, that it died down with the Old Religion and was reserved for a select few.  Merlin still had his magic though, brilliant and golden as ever, and although Arthur was still wary about what that meant, Merlin was Merlin, and he could never be evil, magic or not.  He knew that now.

Even though Arthur was still adjusting and learning, Merlin told him about the letters.  “I wrote to you, Arthur,” he has said.  “I wanted you to know my life.  I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.  I wanted you to know me.”  And then Merlin had pulled this crate of letters out from under his bed, had told Arthur he wanted him to read them.  If that was what made Merlin happy, Arthur was all too happy to oblige, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared of what the letters held, the words and thoughts of his Merlin, who he had abandoned so many years ago.  Once he read them, he could never go back and cleanse his memory of all the things Merlin had to live through.

Arthur sighed and sucked up his thoughts.  He was doing this for Merlin, he told himself.  Merlin had always done everything for him: he used his magic for Arthur, he served Arthur until his last breath and even beyond if he was speaking realistically.  Merlin had always been there and Arthur had always taken that for granted, had never completely reciprocated that notion, even though his love for his servant was beyond anything he could express.  This time he was going to do something right.  He was going to be there for Merlin.  It was Merlin who was the broken one now, who needed to be reminded of how special he was, and Arthur was going to be the one to do that this time around.

He turned the letter around, flipped open the envelope, and pulled the letter out.  He read word after word, letter after letter.  He read sentences about Merlin’s loneliness, his frustration, his feeling of uselessness, and wished someone had been there to help him.  His heart was heavy when he read of Merlin’s struggles with abuse, with his curse of immortality.  His own sadness seemed to weigh him down when Merlin explained his life, all the things he’d kept hidden from him in Camelot, the parts Arthur had wanted to know about him the most.  He was hurt to read stories of things that happened after his death, how his friends had coped, how Camelot shifted and changed over the years until his kingdom was no more.  Not all of his friends made it out okay.  He was deeply hurt when Merlin wrote to him about Freya, because he remembered her.  He remembered how she shifted into the monster, how he had been the one to wield the mortal blow.  He couldn’t believe he had been the one to cause Merlin grief and sorrow.  He hadn’t meant to.  Arthur was jealous reading about Daniel, the man Merlin had spent his life with after Arthur, even though he was happy to know Merlin had tried to move on, to forget about him, to live a normal existence.  And it pleased him to learn he would always be his, because Arthur could admit it, he was a possessive bastard, and wasn’t really willing to share Merlin with anyone.  Merlin was his, would always be his, no one else’s.  He felt joy when Merlin described his good days, the wonderful people and places he had encountered, the new things he had tried.  It was exciting and incredible to hear about.  Arthur was also sure he would love to meet Lilly, who appeared in a lot of the later letters, and he made a mental note to tell Merlin they should all meet.

Arthur didn’t stop reading the letters until he’d finished them all, made it all the way to the last one Merlin had ever written him.  Arthur didn’t understand a lot of things (what was _Harry Potter_?  Starbucks?  _Doctor Who?_ The Smiths?) but he was sure he would figure them out in no time.  Merlin had a lot to teach him about this world and Arthur was eager to learn, eager to see things the way Merlin saw them, to learn about his life and his choices, to live that happy existence his lover so desperately craved.  Everything that was said in the letters was a lot to take him, a lot good, a lot bad.  But Arthur knew this time around, could feel it in his gut, that he was ready.

After much thought and after he’d carefully put all the letters back in the crate, Arthur walked out of the room he was in to see if Merlin was still awake.  Merlin was sitting on what he had called a sofa, looking at something he had referred to as a television.  The first time he introduced it to Arthur he had been terrified of the people moving and talking in front of him, demanding to know what kind of sorcery enabled someone to do this.  After a long explanation, Arthur still wasn’t sure of how it worked and was still wary of the device, but he trusted Merlin, who seemed okay about it, snorting in amusement as Arthur’s mistrust of the object.

Arthur cleared his throat as he sat down beside Merlin on the couch.  “What’s, uh, what’s on the television?”

“It’s a show called _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , _”_ Merlin said without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Oh.  What’s it about?”

“It’s about a girl who slays vampires with the help of her mentor.”

Arthur nodded his head, though he knew Merlin wasn’t looking at him.  He sat there in silence with Merlin, watching the show, trying to understand what was going on.  There was a redheaded witch trying to perform a spell with the help of another blonde girl.  Arthur wasn’t sure he liked sorcerers any better now that he knew not all of them were evil.  He just didn’t understand magic; he wasn’t sure even if Merlin laid it all out for him word for word that he would ever grasp the notion, ever fully appreciate or receive it well.  His skin prickled at bit that magic was still around on television, that people were still talking about it, still practicing it, although there weren’t many followers of the Old Religion anymore.  Magic just wasn’t something Arthur had been born to be okay with.

Suddenly the two girls disappeared from the screen and were replaced with blackness: no moving pictures, no people.  Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was now staring intently at him, his blue eyes containing a fiery passion in them.  “Look, Arthur, if what you read about me changed your opinion on who I am—”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Arthur said quietly.

Merlin nodded.  “I know you were dying when you accepted my magic, and maybe if I had told you when we were in Camelot your reaction would have been different.  I can’t apologise enough for everything I’ve done or everything that’s happened, but I didn’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”

“Everything you did was to protect a kingdom I had worked so hard to build.  I know you didn’t use your magic for evil purposes, like Morgana.  And I don’t blame you for what she became.  Morgana made her own choices.  She allowed the darkness, the hate for our father, to consume her until there was no love left inside of her heart.  She became who she was out of her own devices, not because of anything you said and did.”

“And what about Mordred?  I was the one who betrayed him, I was the one who let him live—”

“He was a child when you saved him, Merlin.  And I am as much to blame as you are about Mordred.  I guided him back to his people.  I let him into Camelot, let him become a knight.  I killed Kara and sent him running towards Morgana.  But in the end, Mordred had a choice whether to let that betrayal guide him.  He had a choice, just like Morgana did, and he let his grief overshadow his logic.”

Merlin’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, breathed deeply in and out to calm himself.  His hands were steadily shaking, and Arthur placed his hands over the sorcerer’s in order to stop them.  He looked deeply into Merlin eyes, his eyes which held so much, so many emotions that Arthur had never clearly seen before.  Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to see.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Merlin looked back confused.  “Do what?”

“Not let the bitterness consume you.  You lost so much you cared about.  Will, Freya, your father.”  He inhaled sharply, intensely guilt-ridden at how he had never truly comforted Merlin every time he had lost another piece of himself, every time he knew something new was upsetting him.  He had seen how hurt Merlin got, but instead of listening, instead of talking to him, Arthur had simply taken him to bed and tried to heal him with his kisses, with their passion, hoping that Arthur’s love was the one thing that would stitch his lover back together again.  “How did you find it inside your heart to keep going with each new betrayal, to let yourself trust, to be loyal throughout everything?”

Merlin smiled softly.  “I had you,” he said.  “Even if you didn’t know the truth, you were there.  You were my purpose, my destiny.  I loved you with everything I had, and even some days when I felt too broken, too burdened by the hardships, crushed underneath a destiny I knew nothing about, all I had to do is remind myself of you, Arthur.  When I couldn’t talk to anyone about what I was going through, when Gaius couldn’t understand, when everything else failed, you kept me going.  You loved me.  You showed me there was something to live for.  There was a promise with you that I would always have something special, and I just had to hold on to it when everything seemed too bleak.”

“And after…after I died?  You did so many things…but you never once used your magic for evil.”

“Because I had hope that one day you would come back to me.  I know I changed a lot since Camelot, but I always had that faith you and I would be reunited again.”

Arthur shook his head, took the moment to knot his fingers into Merlin’s instead of just covering them with his own.  It felt the same, just like it used to.  Merlin’s hands were still rough and calloused from his servant days and Arthur loved the way it felt.  It made Merlin seem like home.  “You didn’t change, Merlin.  You’re still you.  Your heart is still the same.  Whatever changes you’ve gone through, mistakes you’ve made…you didn’t harden your heart.  That’s all I ever wanted from you: to never let the hurt turn you into something you’re not, like Morgana.  You’re still the same old Merlin to me, and I quite like it that way.”

Merlin grinned at him, and Arthur couldn’t help but grin back, in love with the way the other man’s dimples showed, how his eyes lit up.  Merlin really was a breath taking sight, gangly limbs, enormous ears, and all.  And he was Arthur’s.  All his.

Arthur shifted a little towards Merlin and untangled their hands, bringing one of them to rest against Merlin’s cheek.  “Merlin,” he whispered.  His heart was beating rapidly in his chest and he saw Merlin’s sharp intake of breath, nervous and beginning to fidget.  He caressed his lover’s cheek with the thumb of his hand, staring at Merlin, soaking him in, trying to memorise the man standing before him.

He didn’t realise he had been standing there for so long, or perhaps he hadn’t been, but he knew Merlin’s impatient attitude rivalled his own at times, and he found the sorcerer blurting out, “Oh, just bloody well kiss me already, would you?  I waited a good long time for you to come back and I think you owe me a proper shag by now!”

Arthur laughed.  “Always full of tact you are, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed in mock annoyance.  “Come here, you prat.”

He closed the distance between them, lips meeting, warmth spreading through their entire bodies.  Merlin’s hands moved to grasp Arthur’s hips and the skin beneath the man’s fingertips tingled.  He’d missed this.  He’d missed Merlin so much, and couldn’t realise why, since he’d been dead for practically centuries.  He just knew he was happy to finally have that missing piece of his life back.

His destiny and how he was the king that would save Albion vanished from Arthur’s thoughts as he and Merlin guided themselves towards the bedroom.  He thought of nothing else but he love the two shared as they reunited, as they relearned each other’s bodies for the first of many times.  Whatever hardships they were to befall, whatever new things came their way, they would do it together as Arthur and Merlin, king and sorcerer, two sides of the same coin.

And this time, things did end happily ever after, because they both had each other, and that was enough for the both of them for a very long time to come.


End file.
